


Held Prisoner

by mutemail



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Discipline, Face-Fucking, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Skull Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutemail/pseuds/mutemail
Summary: Kidnapping/Stalker AU but mainly no plot. Eddie has Waylon captive in his basement and uses him however he sees fit.
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin & Waylon Park, Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park
Comments: 4
Kudos: 216





	Held Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OneofWebs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/gifts).



> A gift for my dear friend One! I hope you like it. Comments and kudos fuel my writing, enjoy ♡

Waylon’s hands twist and pull feverently against his bindings, wincing each time the rope rubs against the rawed skin of his wrists. The passage of time is indecipherable down here. A fog has settled it over his mind. The only way he knows of the days crawling by is through Eddie’s routine visits. Three visits a day and more on the weekends when the shop is closed.

Mornings are hazy; Waylon typically doesn’t have the energy or form to try and do anything devious. Eddie cooks him a hearty breakfast that he picks at before allowing him to use the facilities to relieve himself, freshen up, and tend to whatever else before Eddie leaves for the day. Around noon when Waylon’s stomach has dipped in hunger is when Eddie temporarily closes shop and returns, making himself something to eat and sometimes deeming Waylon’s behaviour good enough for a treat. The extra fat on his hips and thighs are a thing of the past under Eddie’s strict diet and gaze.

The evenings are by far the worst. Often times, Eddie is frustrated from customers at the shop and chooses to unwind by keeping company with Waylon in the basement. They will share dinner and chat about whatever comes to mind, though it is always Eddie carrying conversation. Waylon’s manners are a work in progress in the sense that his spirit still blazes faintly, yet to be crushed by Eddie’s efforts to break him.

Heavy footfalls travel across the ceiling, winding through the house towards the cellar door. The door opens and the stairs creak under the weight of a new presence. Eddie descends into the basement whilst humming an unfamiliar tune. Waylon watches with blurred eyes as the other male makes his way to the corner where he’s been restrained. He pulls again at the ropes with the hint of a wince twisting on his face. Eddie stalks forward before snatching up Waylon’s chin between his fingers.

“Good evening, Waylon.” The heat of his breath tickles over Waylon’s face as he dips down with eyes searching the younger man’s face for acknowledgement. “I trust that you’ve been good today. It was business as usual for me, nothing exciting is going on at the shop. I did hear on the radio about a new little restaurant nearby. I was thinking about going to order something for the both of us. How does that sound?”

Waylon gives a nondescript grunt. Eddie lets go of his face in favor of stretching back up to his full height, fingers falling to his waist to tug the end of his belt out of the buckle then from the loops of his slacks. He stretches out his arm to the side as the leather falls free, dragging its tip on the ground in a lazy circle. Waylon cannot suppress the shiver that runs through his body at the sight of Eddie’s favorite disciplinary weapon.

“I suggest that you be a good girl tonight and we can forgo anything unsavory, darling.” Eddie pulls up his hand then quickly drops it to catch the loose end of the belt, now holding it doubled in one hand. “I’d hate to mark up your skin any more than I have to.”   
  
Waylon stays silent. Smarting off had never been of particular help before, and doing so had more often than not ended in his blood smeared across Eddie’s knuckles. Good behaviour was the standard and it was more than expected of him. He flinches as Eddie lashes the belt against the wall with a growl.   
  
“Do you plan on not speaking for the entirety of our evening?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” Waylon licks his lips nervously, the submissive obedience a reflex. His brows furrow together. It’s grown difficult to keep any shreds of his former self from being manipulated into something that would fit Eddie’s liking. Waylon continually reminds himself that he has no loyalties here. There is nothing gained from being passive.

The tension leaves Eddie’s shoulders slowly; his fingers return to their position at the front of his pants where he thumbs open the button to tug down the zipper. Waylon can already see the strain of Eddie’s arousal through the confines of his briefs, begging to be tended to. He swallows nervously as sickness threatens to overtake him. Eddie beckons for him with his fingers as Waylon careens backwards, leaning off-balance.

“No--, no please. No! Not tonight, please, no, please--,” Waylon lets out a cry as his hair is seized with an iron grip. He quickly presses his mouth together into a thin, stubborn line. Eddie is undeterred. The belt is dropped to the floor unceremoniously.

“Come now, don’t be difficult. It’s been such a long day.” His free hand pulls down the fabric of his boxers to settle under his balls and his cock hangs heavy but fully erect. Eddie gives it a lazy stroke whilst pulling Waylon in closer to smear the tip across his sealed lips. Salty pre-cum dribbles down the underside and soaks into the briefs as a beat passes between them. A frustrated look contorts Eddie’s features.

He shoots out to grab Waylon’s face, forefinger and thumb pinching his nostrils together tightly. With his other hand he grips either side of Waylon’s jaw rather than holding tight to his hair. A muffled cry is all that the kneeling male can manage.

“You have to breathe sooner or later, darling.” Eddie lets out a frustrated breath before leveling a smug look down at Waylon. “And when you do, you’re going to taste my cock.”

Waylon shoots a tired glare up at the man. He twists his head back and forth to try and get the hands to loosen in hopes of stealing even a small breath. Only seconds in does he find it difficult not to give in to temptation and open his mouth; instead he presses his lips into a tighter line with another defiant twist backward.

Emotions cycle through the forefront of his mind in rapid succession: fear, shame, indignation, and unbridled disgust. Each time he nearly gives in to suck in a tantalizing breath he forces himself to stare into the tip of Eddie’s ruddy, dripping cock. It’s enough of a reminder of what’s to come that he stubbornly lasts a half-second more than he believed he could.

“Don’t worry, I’m a patient man. It won’t be long now will it?” A tender smile splits Eddie’s lip, the skin twisting oddly over scar tissue. “I have a second nature for these sorts of things. It’s okay, darling, I know you’re just playing hard to get. No one said I didn’t like a little chase.”

Waylon’s vision blurs considerably in the following seconds. How long has it been now? He tries desperately to recall how long a human can hold their breath before falling unconscious, panic rising in his gut. Horror comes chasing quickly after; the realization that Gluskin may very well use his body while he’s truly unable to fight back.

Black spots swarm in front of his vision down a long tunnel that seems to pass over miles of ground before reaching Eddie’s face so far above him. Blood thrums erratically in his ears. He twists his head again in Eddie’s grip, feeling increasingly trapped. Finally, he opens his mouth to suck in a desperate breath.

Fingers shoot forward into his mouth, delving to the sides of his cheeks and towards the back where they can force his jaw wide open. Waylon gasps dizzily.

“If you bite me, I will beat you within an inch of your life. Do not disobey me.” Eddie rocks his hips forward until the head of his dick teases the soft wetness of Waylon’s lower lip. Waylon tugs back fruitlessly before submitting with a broken sob, eyes welling up with unshed tears. Eddie’s form glitters through the kaleidoscope that is his vision. He sucks in another breath through his open mouth.

“Good girl.” His coo calms Waylon’s frazzled nerves. It shouldn’t be this way, should never be this way, but he can’t help but try to find solace in whatever scraps of positive attention Gluskin feeds to him. Waylon finds himself preening openly at the words. Even as Eddie thrusts forward, Waylon accepts his length, allowing his eyes to flutter shut while his breath evens out through his nose.

Waylon’s hands shake with disgust, both at himself and his weakness giving into Eddie’s desires so easily. Maybe some sick part of him has grown to love the attention; maybe he wants to believe that Eddie genuinely cares. Waylon finds it harder to refuse him with each passing day. If it makes things easier, is it really that terrible to relinquish himself?

A roll of Eddie’s hips takes Waylon’s attention away from his own problems and instead redirects it to the throbbing heat in his mouth. His gaze drags up through fluttering lashes as Eddie tightens the grip on his head to a nearly painful degree. Waylon stutters a breath through his nose before opening up his throat wider. Every thrust comes with a disgusting squelch of spittle and pre-come.

“Yes,” the pace quickens and Eddie screws his eyes shut, letting his head hang against his chest. His fingers dig into Waylon’s scalp. The head of his cock finds home at the back of Waylon’s throat, hips flush to his cheeks, and Eddie growls out a pleased moan. He makes quick work of himself, pulling out finally to stroke himself. Eddie’s free hand drops to hold Waylon’s chin and keep his mouth open wide.

“You don’t know what you do to me, darling.” Eddie’s grip tightens as he strokes his cock faster, breath coming in short gasps. Thick ropes of come fall across Waylon’s outstretched tongue and over his lips. Waylon screws his eyes shut tightly in disgust. The hold on his hair is released, allowing him to slump down and bow his head shamefully. Bile rises in the back of his throat but he swallows it deftly; Eddie would be ever so displeased if he allowed himself to make a mess of the floor, no matter that it’s concrete and easy to clean. He should at least try to pretend to be grateful.

“Thank you, sir.”

Spit dribbles pathetically down his chin, inching towards his collarbones much to Waylon’s disapproval. His fingers twitch in their binding, longing to wipe his face clean, but he remains still while Eddie eyes him with something akin to adoration. Heavy fingers slide through the mess on his neck to smear it up across Waylon’s cheek.

“Beautiful..” Eddie rears back to tuck himself back into his pants. He does up the zipper and buttons then grabs his previously discarded, and almost forgotten, belt off the floor. Waylon watches every moment with calculated hesitance.

“I think you’ve more than earned dinner tonight, darling, so behave yourself while I’m gone.”

Heavy footfalls retreat back up the stairs and the door shuts securely, the sound of a lock twisting into the jamb reaches Waylon’s ear. He watches as the light under the door goes dark and footsteps head towards the general direction of the front door. Another evening has passed.


End file.
